Equinox

Chapter 14. Confrontation

14. Confrontation

“Oh, God, no – Jabir!  What have you done?”  I gasp, surveying the carnage before me.  The four former occupants of the squat lie scattered.  As I come through the main entryway, I have to step over a young man, his neck twisted grotesquely to the side, the spray of blood up the wall letting me know that Jabir has forgotten himself and gone for the jugular – again.  In the living area, an older man lies half on, half off a filthy, stained sofa.  His expression is one of frozen surprise as he stares at me unseeingly.  The cracked leather glistens slickly, blackly, with his shed blood.  Blood is everywhere, spattered up the walls, carpets, even on the ceiling.  This isn’t just because Jabir has bitten the jugulars.  A mess like this can only be the result of a feeding frenzy, a complete loss of control. 

Crouched in the corner is Jabir, still clutching his third victim to his chest, eyeing me warily over her shoulder.  From behind the breakfast bar in the squalid kitchenette, I hear a tiny, ragged intake of breath and a pounding, terrified heartbeat.  It’s a wonder anybody has been left alive in this.  Perhaps, if I had been another minute later, they wouldn’t have been.

I close my eyes for a full second, suppressing my own pang of thirst – for now.

“I told you to wait,” I tell Jabir sternly, and he has the grace to look contrite, at least.

“I couldn’t help myself,” he whispers.

“I can see that.”  I scowl at the man on the couch.  “We just wanted that one,” I complain.  We have been spying on this place for days, convinced that this man had been a part of Antonio’s ring and was still grooming teenagers for dealing.  He seemed good at identifying vulnerable ones – the homeless, or just a little neglected, and he was providing them with a refuge.  But he was also a drug-pusher, drawing them in with soft drugs like dope, then progressing them onto crack.  Once hooked, they would do anything for their next fix, and, too stoned to refuse, they were forced out to work the streets; small-time dealers acting as a front for a large, well-organised gang.  Now, he is dead, along with his latest recruits.  This will take some cleaning up.

We have lived in New York almost a month now and one by one, Jabir and I are picking off the men that he could remember.  It had been his idea, a way he could live with his need for human blood, if he fed from the low-lives and criminals that occupied the dirty underbelly of the city.

I had agreed readily enough, and to be fair, so far it has worked well.  For a new-born of only a few months old, Jabir is showing a good level of self control.  Frenzies like this one are rare, and I normally get there quickly enough to stop attacks on the scale of this one.

This situation is my fault.  Usually, when we have identified our victim, I will lure them using my well-practised techniques, to a quiet spot where Jabir will be waiting.  Their death at his hands is brutal but swift.  This time, however, Jabir was convinced our mark would respond better to a boy as lure.  I didn’t ask how he knew this, I would rather not know.

But for whatever reason; nerves, too much thirst, the full moon for all I know, Jabir has not returned to me with the man, and when I come to investigate, this is what I find.  It’s my fault.  I should not have agreed to let Jabir come here alone.  Four months is too new.  No vampire has that much control so soon.

There is another tiny sniff from behind the breakfast bar, and despite myself, my eyes flicker that way briefly.  Jabir sees this, and his own eyes widen.

“Please don’t hurt that one,” he pleads.  “She’s young.  I’m sorry about all this, but don’t hurt that one.”

“Jabir,” I say firmly, drawing myself up tall.  He drops his eyes immediately.  “I need you to go home.  Now.  Don’t worry about any of this, I’ll sort it.”